mosque at the Citadel
which was built by that Memlook ruler--the mosque whose minarets are
ornamented with picturesque bands of emerald-hued porcelain. The
illuminated Korans are not here; they are kept in the Public Library in
the Street of the Sycamores. Perhaps the most beautiful of the museum's
treasures are the old lamps of Arabian glass. In shape they are vases,
as they were simply filled with perfumed oil which carried a floating
wick; the colors are usually a pearly background, faintly tinged
sometimes by the hue we call ashes of roses; upon this background are
ornaments of blue, gold, and red; occasionally these ornaments are
Arabic letters forming a name or text. These lamps were made in the
thirteenth and fourteenth centuries; the glass, which has as marked
characteristics of its own as Palissy ware, so that once seen it can
never be confounded with any other, has a delicate beauty which is
unrivalled.

HELIOPOLIS

Like the pyramids, Heliopolis belongs to Cairo. On the way thither, one
first traverses the pleasant suburb of Abbasieh. How one traverses it
depends upon his taste. The most enthusiastic pedestrian soon gives up
walking in the city of the Khedive save in the broad streets of the new
quarter. The English ride, one meets every day their gallant mounted
bands; but these are generally residents and their visitors, and the
horses are their own; for the traveller there are only the street
carriages and the donkeys. The carriages are dubiously loose-jointed,
and the horses (whose misery has already been described) have but two
gaits--the walk of a dying creature and the gallop of despair; unless,
therefore, one wishes to mount a dromedary, he must take a donkey. But
the "must" is not a disparagement; the white and gray donkeys of
Cairo--the best of them--are good-natured, gay-hearted, strong, and even
handsome. They have a coquettish way of arching their necks and holding
their chins (if a donkey can be said to have a chin), which always
reminded me of George Eliot's description of Gwendolen's manner of
poising her head in _Daniel Deronda_. George Eliot goes on to warn other
young ladies that it is useless to try to imitate this proud little air,
unless one has a throat like Gwendolen's. And, in the same spirit, one
must warn other donkeys that they must be born in Cairo to be beautiful.
Upon several occasions I recognized vanity in my donkey. He knew
perfectly when he was adorned with his holiday ne